


Medicate, Meditate, Agitate. Repeat.

by PureBatWings



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Adrenaline, Assorted Admirals and Bureaucrats, Bonding, Compliant to either Star Trek TOS or AOS, Developing Relationship, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jim is a "foodie", M/M, Meditation, Multi, New Relationship, Outwitting bureaucracy, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Relationship, Public Relations, San Francisco, Shore Leave, Telepathy, Threesome - M/M/M, Triad - Freeform, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vancouver, great minds think alike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12771516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PureBatWings/pseuds/PureBatWings
Summary: The three of them deal with their loneliness and stress in similar ways. Things won't change until the situation changes, bringing about something among the three of them that could be happiness.Usual legal disclaimers apply. Not my characters, not for money, no copyright infringement implied.





	1. Old Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medicate, meditate, agitate. Repeat until the pattern is broken. The triumvirate deals with stress in similar ways.

_McCoy:_

He self medicates. That’s what he calls it, in the privacy of his own head. Not how Scotty, his frequent companion in bibulous gatherings might put it. Not what Chekov calls it when there’s drinking accompanying Terran card games or Denisovian III dice games or other games involving chance, skill, the exchange of credits as forfeits and the added benefit of crew bonding. He puts that social drinking with a group into a different category than what he does alone, or the almost weekly sharing of Saurian Brandy or the hard stuff with his Captain, when Jim puts aside duty briefly and becomes reflective, showing flashes of the lonely man with a morose side that isn’t available for public viewing.

He meditates on what could go wrong and probably will, given how the universe is a fan and ally of Murphy. Some people would call it worrying, and damn it, they’d be right. And he agitates. Not in the flashy way his Captain does, all Shakespearean high comedy or tragedy with dramatic pauses. No, it’s a silent thread of tension that entwines his days in sickbay wondering what plague will hit next. Or which hitherto unknown alien will decide to make a chew toy of Jim’s body or Spock’s mind and cannon fodder of those poor red shirted security bastards.

On the bridge, he mutters to himself things only Vulcan ears can pick up, with the faint hope of seeing the second in command’s lips twitch in an almost imperceptible smirk of amusement. If Spock has time to be vaguely amused at the doctor’s kvetching then McCoy knows the situation isn’t that dire.

Seeing the Captain jaunt off on yet an away mission makes him twitchier than a long-tailed cat on a porch full of rocking chairs. Hard to say which is worse, coming along planet side and having to watch the damn fool woo the alien ladies or get injured again. Or both. Course, it’s also no ant-free picnic being in Sickbay waiting for Jim to return with a sucking chest wound passed out or felled by his innumerable allergies and carried in by the stoic green-blooded number two.

Jim’s body is placed gently on a bio-bed and over his prone form Spock and McCoy exchange a familiar look, a mixture of “well, here we are, again” and “thank you for saving him” to each other. It’s understood they can’t stop Kirk from rushing in where Romulans fear to tread, so they support him in all the ways they can.

 

_Spock:_

He meditates. It is a logical use of a resource that is finite. As a Vulcan with two jobs--science officer and second in command--there are not enough hours in the day to follow all the lines of research he finds compelling, to experiment in the labs, to analyze the data anomalies that will make their way into his reports and the more florid, less factual reports of his Captain. It is lucky he needs less sleep than a full human, is how Bones might put it, except the doctor is a man of science and knows it is not luck, (if such a thing exists), but Vulcan physiology that allows five hours of sleep to be sufficient, and eight hours extremely unlikely unless illness or injury intervenes in the pattern of Spock’s days.

He self-medicates. Well, if one terms incense with a calming resinous scent and molecules designed to enhance the production of theta waves to be a form of medication. Meditation is his inoculation against the occasionally overpowering waves of human emotion that threaten to swamp him on this ship full of emotion-prone beings. Ironically, the two people who he finds most comfortable for one on one, or two on one interactions are among the most emotion-prone ones on the ship. He is drawn by the differences between his genius Captain’s brain and his own—Kirk’s illogical intuitive leaps translate into success against overwhelming odds in the field or against Spock’s carefully planned and logically executed strategies on the 3D chess board.

In between the daring moves on the black and white board, Jim lets go of some of the defensive hyper-alertness that characterizes him on the bridge. When Jim’s fingers accidentally brush Spock’s, his hand hovering over-close, Spock feels Jim’s deep contentment in his company, his pleasure in the intellectual challenge and the closest thing he has to restfulness and simply being in his action filled days.

Spock is drawn by the scientific acumen of the doctor as well. Under his prickly exterior is a depth of compassion and a loyalty that runs deep and true. Their squabbles, as Kirk terms them, are more of an understood, almost set form of debate, with rules like Lincoln-Douglas. Their insults are a creative form of indicating they are friends, allies, that they care enough about each other to indulge in a battle of the wits.

When the doctor results to slurs on his genetic heritage or personal physical attributes-- “you green blooded, pointy eared bastard”--Spock knows his point is valid, that he has won their argument and the doctor knows it too, but has to object _pro forma_. Spock’s options at that point are either to delineate the circumstances of his parents' marriage, or to engage in more verbal combat in order to create a smile on his captain’s face and the emotional impression of satisfaction in a worthy opponent that McCoy exudes.

_Kirk:_

He agitates. When worry over his crew or his past or his closest companions in blue comes too closely and intensely in the middle of the night, he exercises by punching a boxing bag, or he paces the Enterprises corridors, walking a groove in his ship’s depths, another way of claiming “she is mine, I know her well.” On away missions he is a man of action—he hates to feel trapped, whether it’s by some two-bit world’s primitive jail cell or a lack of options. If you have options, you can make changes.

If he stops too long with his moving, his restless interest in people, in doing, in the endless routines of paperwork and management and plans, then he feels thwarted. And if his nocturnal activities of exercise or flirtation or sex on shore leave don’t help with insomnia, he’ll seek out his friend, his doctor, for good quality booze to blot out some things he’d rather not recall.

He self-medicates. He’s drinking to get temporary oblivion from memories--childhood abuse, the hellhole of Tarsus, all the deaths he feels are marks against him in some cosmic balance sheet for which he will be held accountable someday, all the people he left before they could leave him. How he’s managed to keep Bones as a friend is a fucking miracle in a universe that seems often to have it in for Jim Kirk, he thinks to himself when he’s in a particularly self-pitying mood.

He meditates on whether the world would be that different if he no longer existed. He suspects even if there are multiple or parallel universes out there with Jim Kirks in them, he is a very small cog in a very large universe. When he feels this inadequate he tends to flirt outrageously, to instigate interplanetary civil wars and generally piss off the Starfleet brass more than his usual wont.

He doesn’t want McCoy to remind him he’s mortal, or for Spock to point out this is the thirteenth time he’s dodged enemy projectiles this month, Captain.

“Triskaidekaphobe,” he says with a smirk which his favorite Vulcan doesn’t return.

**Breaking the Pattern**

“If you had let her mucus membranes any closer to yours, you’d be sporting purple pustules for the better part of a month, Jimbo. Can’t you just stick to the standard sexually transmitted diseases?”

Jim shrugs and smiles his charming smile that can verge on smarmy at times. “Play with alien cootchies, catch some cooties,” he says dismissively, trying to jolly his doctor into a laugh. McCoy isn’t buying it, his face reddening as his blood pressure rises. Not a good sign, as Jim knows damn well.

“Shit on a shingle, Jim. Someday you’ll catch something my magic hypo can’t cure, you’ll die in agony and where will we be?”

“Ehh, the Enterprise will get a new hotshot commanding officer. Not half as good as me, of course,” he adds with his usual lack of modesty.

“That wasn’t the we I meant. It would break my heart to do your autopsy and shove your corpse into deep freeze for transport to earth. And Spock? I suspect your loss would devastate him the rest of his very long, very logical life.” Captain Clueless doesn't think about himself and just reacts as though no one else can fight natives or defend themselves. It drives McCoy absolutely bat-shit crazy, or it would if he let it.

Jim scoffs reflexively, then shuts up when he sees the glare Len’s leveling at him. His chief medical officer’s eyes have the start of tears in them. “You’re a damn idiot about what should be very obvious, James Tiberius Kirk,” says the doctor with a growl. “And don’t you dare leave sickbay until 0900 tomorrow morning.” He leaves Jim to his dulled pain and a swirl of thoughts he won't be able to drink away or exercise into exhaustion tonight.

 

**Changed Patterns**

“Enter,” says Spock. He was finishing up his report on the Illyrian diplomatic negotiations, making certain to downplay how close their captain had come to contracting the infamous mauve boils that characterized the sexually transmitted infection endemic among the planet’s ruling class.

“Doctor,” he acknowledges, with a polite nod. “I trust you have not had to physically restrain the captain in his favored bed in Sickbay?”

“He’s in one of his devil-may-care, my life doesn’t matter phases again,” groans the doctor, split between exhaustion and disgust. “It barely penetrated his thick skull when I told him that we would miss him if he died in one of his damn-fool heroic stunts or from one of his testosterone fueled amatory adventures.”

There was no good response. Spock knew Jim wouldn’t listen to them until he was good and ready. “Do you want some synthehol, doctor?”

He had worked with humans long enough to begin to stock actual non-replicated tea, alcohol, chocolate and other mood altering substances in his quarters. His father would term it illogical, his human mother would have called it “greasing the wheels of inter-species amity and communication.”

McCoy shakes his head. “I swear on my grandmomma’s grave if he dies on us, I’d resurrect him so I’d have the pure pleasure of killing him myself.”

“That statement exceeds previous examples of your illogical hyperbole by at least 3.81standard deviations, Dr. McCoy," replies Spock, a small glint in his eyes that might have been amusement.

McCoy moans in defeat and throws himself dramatically onto the spare, but surprisingly comfortable, sofa in Spock’s quarters. “Just knock me out with a nerve pinch, Spock, so I can forget Captain Oblivious for a while.”

“You do have a thespian bent for a physician,” observes Spock as he seats himself beside his friend. “Here, lie down.” McCoy slumps further, resting his head on Spock’s lap and looks up into the dark eyes.

“I don’t know what more I can do to get him to show some sense of self-preservation. Maybe he thinks that because he survived Tarsus as a teen that nothing can kill him as an adult?” Len's forehead is furrowed with the lines indicating his frustration and concern.

Spock sighs, the merest exhalation and runs his fingers carefully through McCoy’s hair, massaging the tense scalp muscles. McCoy has almost drifted off to sleep when Spock breaks the silence. “I agree the Captain needs to be diverted from this self-destructive, if not depressive spiral and his energies applied to more productive, pleasurable outlets. The intellectual challenges of chess are not enough to calm his restless mind. I am, I confess, uncertain what would prove a sufficient distraction encompassing such criteria.”

“You could seduce him with one of your Vulcan mind melds,” suggests Leonard, head butting Spock's hand to get petted some more. He has good reason to know how bewitching the Vulcan’s mind was in this past month since they had become friends with benefits.

“You could help him drown his sorrows and engage him in coitus,” replies Spock, brushing his thumb over the doctor’s lips affectionately before he leans down to kiss him in the human fashion. “You are an attractive human male specimen, after all," he adds and enjoys watching the cynic's cheeks flush.

They danced around their attraction for years until they realized not only were they each other’s confidants, and brothers in arms, but also that Jim was a critical part of the equation of how they related to each other.

“We would need to force him to acknowledge the issue of his attraction to both of us, now when he is emotionally compromised and injured,“ comments Spock.

"Well, he can’t run away easily right now, with his two broken ribs and recently healed ankle. And when he’s healthy, Jim’s a medal winner in denial,” says Leonard wryly, sitting up and letting himself be pulled to his feet by his Vulcan partner’s strong hand. He met Spock’s two extended fingers with his own in an embrace that felt like a warm, long fingered hand running the length of his spine.

“So we’re doing this now? Giving him the challenge of being in a relationship with both of us? This could go very well or...."

“Assuredly. Captain Kirk cannot resist a challenge. I predict that Jim Kirk shall not either.”

 

Jim looks between them again, speechless. Finally he squeaks, “really? It's not a joke you two cooked up?”

Spock sniffs. “Vulcans don’t joke, Jim.”

“True,” muses the Captain, “though you come awfully close, some days.” Spock looks only slightly affronted.

“You need two people to look out for you and challenge you, we believe,” points out Leonard.

The captain still looks stunned at their proposition. “Can I have a few days to consider this? What you're talking about is more than just a one night stand threesome.”

“Only if you don’t run,” says the doctor, looking over at Spock, who nods in agreement. Leonard shifts closer to Spock and is astonished when the Vulcan reaches out and takes his hand without hesitation and squeezes it reassuringly.

Jim’s smile turns bemused, his eyes widening as he takes in their hand-holding. “I can’t run that far in space. You really both want to try to be with a commitment phobic man like me?”  They know his protest and request for time to think is _pro forma_. If Jim's gonna do this, he'll agree soon, and jump in with both feet, not dither like Prufrock or Chamberlain.

Spock clears his throat and says in his most didactic tones, “past behavior is not necessarily indicative of future behavior when some of the situational parameters have altered. In the past month the doctor and I have formed a closer alliance of bodies and minds and we seek to have you join us, Captain.”

“You’d make me happier than a hound dawg chewin' on a catfish head in the sunshine if you’d agree to have us..." McCoy says, extending his free hand to Jim. He feels Spock mentally wrinkle his nose in mild distaste at the image.

“It is only logical, Jim," his partner adds.

Having brought their emotional and logical arguments to the table, they wait, scarcely breathing.

The Captain looks up at them, a twinkle in his eyes and a smile curving his mouth. “How could I resist two such impassioned and romantic pleas of devotion and undying love?" He reaches out a hand to each of them. "Sure, count me in.”


	2. Ruminate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early morning ruminations of Leonard, Spock and Jim.

**Ruminate:**

Leonard:

It had to be early, maybe 0500, 0530. He didn’t bother to open his eyes, just snuggled further into the bedclothes and listened to the breathing sounds surrounding him.  He was feeling mellow, even… happy. Huh, that didn’t come around too often. Before, he was mostly happy during the rare vacations he was able to spend time with Joanna, and damn wasn’t she growing up fast, his little girl--and he still hated that his ex, Jocelyn, had primary custody, but he recognized a Star Fleet vessel wasn’t a place to raise a kid, at least not in this day and age.

The primary sources of his happiness lay much closer these days. Specifically, Spock lay to his left and Jim had curled up against his right side, snoring softly. He knew that worrying meant you had to suffer twice and maybe some people would say being involved with two people would double his problems—he now had two more hostages to fortune to try to protect to the best of his medical skills and strength.

Not that he hadn’t been vigilant about their health before. He knew that somewhere in Spock’s big brain was data about exactly how many times his surgeries had saved his friend Jim, how often his hypos had brought their Captain out of anaphylactic shock, the number of times when his medical interventions and deft surgeon's hands had saved Spock. But now he had a different emotional investment as their lover. Maybe some beings could keep their friends with benefits casual—Jim had in the past—but that wasn’t how Len was wired.

When he’d crossed that line between friendly combatants into passionate friends with Spock two months ago, it had definitely shifted Len’s perspective. They had been bickering, alone in a ready room. Their quarrel concerned Jim, of course, the bane of both of their existences. And Spock was being so stick-in-the ass that Len had snapped and grabbed Spock's shoulders and kissed him to shut him up.

He had fully expected to be the recipient of a Vulcan nerve pinch any second and had been floored when instead of his shoulder, his chin was grabbed by Spock's strong fingers. "Doctor? Consider the implications." Dark brown eyes searched his, seeking answers.

Len scoffed. "I _have_ thought about implications. Like you haven't been screwing with my thoughts for years, Spock. You might as well try screwing my body and mind meld with me, and call it a good day's work." He paused, his less than stellar marriage flashing before his eyes. "Unless you don't want me, in which case I apologize for sexually assaulting you and I will just go back to arguing with you for my kicks."

The fingers moved from his chin to his lips. "A doctor who does not know the cure for what ails him? I see I may have overestimated your medical skills. You agree to a meld between us?" Breathless, McCoy nodded fervently and closed his eyes as Spock's fingers rested on his temple and the Vulcan's mind slid into his thoughts, demonstrating to Leonard just how fervently he was wanted.

It wasn't true that Vulcans didn't feel. Rather it was that a focused trained willpower of control let logic keep the upper hand over sometimes very intense emotions, like a firm rider's hand on a powerful, not completely broken stallion. He was honored and delighted and at times, overwhelmed, that Spock chose to drop those barriers and let him into his heart and head and to share his emotions.

They had realized the first time that Spock had melded them that there was an echo of another person, shimmering like a ghost in their heads--a space where Jim needed to be to make their relationship complete, to make it sing with all the voices it needed.

So they had propositioned him when he was down and unable to fight. Medbay didn’t have the romantic ambience of Paris or the waterfalls of Spica III or even Risa’s beaches under the two moons, but that was where they had popped the question. And, as usual, Jim Kirk couldn’t resist what he saw as a challenge.  Perhaps he hadn’t realized at the time it wasn’t just a challenge, but also an offer of happiness, a giving of comfort, a deepening of the support they already gave him as their friend and commander.

Leonard hoped Jim was starting to realize it now; that it was penetrating his thick skull that he wasn’t alone anymore. And when, he was sure it was a _when_ , not _if_ thing, they bonded as a triad, Jim would know this at a deep level, and be forced to accept he wasn’t going to have to suffer the loneliness of his childhood and young adulthood ever again, and that such connections would bring him happiness.

Len wasn’t about to let their higher-ups separate them either. They had to present a united front, so they needed to talk, the three of them, about how they would present Star Fleet with the _fait accompli_ of their relationship. Maybe Spock would have some ideas about what approach to take, given he knew the regulations cold, backwards, forwards and in Ferengi.

He placed his hand over Spock’s arm which was draped across his middle, and stroked the fine dark hair before lapsing back into a doze.

 

Spock:

At some level he registered the two sleeping minds beside him. He suspected a preliminary bond might have established itself among the three of them already, only a month after he and Leonard had convinced Jim to join their pair. He and Leonard heard each other clearly and with Jim the bond was already communicating emotions back and forth, if not yet words and ideas.

It was early, 0557, and all was well.  The undertones of Enterprise’s engines sang as they cruised through the black of space to their next assignment, bringing them back towards the Alpha Quadrant and Earth. Waves of contentment and the slow stroking of his arm by Leonard who was falling back to sleep were what brought him to full wakefulness. Leonard would surely want to take advantage of any chance to see his daughter if they had enough leave time on Earth.

He was less certain of Jim’s plans, but estimated it was 73.4% likely he would be visiting Admiral Pike’s grave (human sentiment) and taking Spock and perhaps McCoy on a “date” to a new Terran/Vulcan fusion restaurant in Vancouver that was drawing interplanetary rave reviews. For a man who had starved as a teenager, and still ate almost anything put before him without complaint as long as he wasn’t allergic to it, Jim had a side of him that was interested in the new and trendy in Terran eateries and drinking establishments.

There was a less recreational aspect to their orders to return to Earth for re-provisioning and ship’s system upgrades. Star Fleet needed to, according to regulations, be informed of any lasting romantic or partner bond liaisons, particularly of upper level officers. A triad of consisting of a Captain, a Chief Medical Officer and First Officer definitely fell within those parameters of the Admiralty’s “need to know” and would likely necessitate further in-person debriefings.

He considered his partners’ responses. Jim and Len were two men who guarded their privacy and vulnerabilities from all but their closest friends. For all their extroverted human emoting, they would doubtless be annoyed by Star Fleet’s intrusion into their newborn relationship and private affairs. Going public within the limits of upper level brass would be an additional stress and given humans’ propensity for gossip, he knew there was a slim 27% chance that the news services wouldn’t discover their relationship within three months and only 9.45% chance they would fly under media notice for a year.

Those facts alone demanded that they communicate with each other and make a plan for the unified front they would present. For now, though, he was reluctant to bring up the topic. The doctor was tetchy at the best of times, and he was nearly as nasty as a le-matya before his first cup of coffee. Jim was someone who woke up quickly-- that was another memento of his dysfunctional childhood.  But he was primed to act rashly and rapidly at such times, not inclined toward reasoned, calm reflection. Broaching the topic over their evening meal once Jim and Len had some alcohol in their systems had the highest likelihood of productive results, Spock decided.

Satisfied that he had sorted out what issues he could for now, he returned to a deeper meditative state, awaiting the alarm that would rouse Jim and signal their return to their own personal quarters from the doctor’s.  He was content and considered how large a role the doctor and captain played in this positive…  he could accept using the word in the deep recesses of his mind… glowing emotion.

 

Jim:

He came awake with a jolt, finding himself pressed up against another man’s body. For all that he liked variety in his bed partners and sexual encounters, he rarely stayed until morning, nor let anyone take over his bed.  Before he could bolt upright and get the hell away from a stranger who had gotten under his defenses enough that he, Jim Kirk, would _cuddle_ with him, his brain came fully online. He realized he was pressed against his friend Leonard, who had a hand resting gently atop the Vulcan’s arm splayed over his chest.

They were both breathing easily, signaling sleep, or deep meditation in Spock’s case.  He knew that if they were late for their shifts Spock’s internal clock would have roused them even if waking alarms failed to go off.  It must be early morning still, he decided, lying back down slowly, glad his sudden movements hadn’t roused Len. He needed his sleep. Since they were heading Earthbound, the doctor would have to deal with his ex before seeing his daughter. A well-rested McCoy was a safer thing for all parties concerned.

He had known Len for years, since they were roommates as cadets at Star Fleet Academy where they had had a few casual drunken sexual encounters, but how things had changed since he had taken his and Spock’s hands in sickbay and agreed to try a relationship among the three of them!  It was only a month or so ago, and instead of feeling like he needed to light out for the Delta Quadrant to get some distance from the sticky entanglement of emotional connections and physical need, he wanted more. Even more enticing, he knew there was more. Spock had said so, and Vulcans didn't lie. Usually.

He hadn’t even considered how his mind might come to crave them when he accepted their less-than-romantic offer. Spock had pointed out it was a logical progression of their friendship and McCoy had issued an emotional appeal.  Sure, he’d done one-off threesomes with variously gendered and a-gendered beings before, but he’d never been in a committed relationship with two people at the same time. And new experiences, he felt, offered challenges and he tried to never back down from a challenge. All those were good reasons, but really, the basic fact was that if they wanted him, he sure as hell wanted all they would give him, for as long as it lasted.

He had melded with Spock before, of course, but the Vulcan had held back large parts of himself before now. The more Jim experienced, the more he wanted communion with that endlessly fascinating mind. And Len—he knew his friend loved him, worried over him like no one’s business and had had his back for years. It was just, with the melding, that the full loyalty, unwavering loving support and sheer brilliance of Bones' mind was made clear. The doctor’s folksy expressions and grumpy exterior were a good camouflage of how smart and loving and just how plain _good_ a person he was.  With this relationship, Jim and Spock had deepened their connection to Len, becoming even more firmly enmeshed in the category of the people Len really cared for, a small handful, the lucky few.

The captain sighed to himself. It would be lovely if they could just continue to explore this new relationship without interference, and have it grow organically with only input from the three of them, but that was highly unlikely given Star Fleet rules and regulations. If they had been lieutenants in different chains of command, they might have been able to keep their triad under a cloaking device for some months, but such a close relationship among three of the top officers in Star Fleet’s flagship? No way in hell.

So they would have to disclose to the Admiralty when they reached Earth in a few days and got debriefed. And he was damned if any bureaucrat, Admiral or not, would find any chinks of light between them to insert a stiletto termed duty or dishonor or lack of professionalism in an attempt to force them apart. That meant they needed to talk. The end of the day, over a meal seemed a good time to broach the topic to both his partners about how they would go public about their relationship. That settled in his mind, Jim scooted closer to Bones and breathed in the comforting smell from the nape of his neck and fell back to sleep.

 


	3. Communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great minds think alike and the three of them manage to communicate.

Jim, Spock & Leonard

Sometimes the Enterprise’s on board communications relay was used for less than wholly professional communications. Text-flirting happened despite regulations about non-personal com use.  Fortunately, a working supper among a captain, a first officer and medical officer did not fall under those parameters.

Ship’s doctor to Captain: Supper, casual dress, your quarters, 1800?

Captain to CMO: Just us?

CMO to Captain: And Spock.

CMO to First officer: Supper 1800 with JTK and me?

First officer to CMO: Affirmative.

Captain to CMO: Sure. Bring booze.

As host, Jim set out extra glasses for his and Bones' drinks and settled on salad and a vegetarian stroganoff from the replicator for their meal. He paced his cabin before deciding this was an informal friendly supper and his command golds were not his best choice. He settled on a blue top and comfortable pants and loafers without socks instead of his regulation boots.

Len encountered Spock in the turbo lift, alone on his way to supper. Lacking an audience, he gave Spock a pleased once over, letting his eyes linger on his dark, non regulation top and pants before he grinned at Spock and raised two fingers. “Evening, Commander Spock, looking sleek.”

“Doctor McCoy, likewise a pleasure,” purred Spock, eying the bottle of Saurian brandy the other man carried and his outfit of casual top, snug blue jeans and sneakers. An amused warm feeling swirled through Spock’s head as his extended two fingers met the physician’s fingertips and their minds brushed lightly against each other. It often felt like being wrapped in a warm sweetness when his mind touched Len’s, thought Spock. Jim was more like fire and spice. _I'm more like cotton and Tupelo honey_ , suggested the doctor’s thoughts before the lift doors opened and deposited them on the corridor containing Spock and Jim’s living quarters. 

Jim opened the door before they could even announce their presence. His casual attire was in contrast with a certain level of tension held in his shoulders. Even a 40.82% chance of the captain deciding to end their alliance before they reached Earth and the scrutiny of its media was too high a risk, decided Spock. He was not about to relinquish Jim and Len due to the outdated opinions of a Terran traditionalist faction that was media savvy and that believed that marriage was only for two people of two distinct and differing genders.

“Following our repast, I postulate there is a situation that will need our immediate attention and a solution,” Spock stated plainly and took his seat to the right of Jim’s chair at the head of the table. Neither Jim nor Len looked terribly surprised at his announcement.

“Better pour me that drink, Jim, I’m thinkin’ it’s going to be a long evening. I’ve gotta go over something with y’all as well,” said the doctor, as he settled into his chair at Jim’s left and shot a reassuring look at the stone-faced Vulcan across from him.  "Spock, you want some chocolate milk to relax ya, maybe a bit of chocolate syrup on your entree?"

The XO shook his head and sipped iced tea, a habit he had recently acquired from his southern significant other. McCoy picked up an itchy, almost impatient, mental feeling from Spock and Jim looked faintly annoyed. His part of their mental link felt like it was coated with static electricity. Whether he was mildly pissed off at them in particular, or mad at the world was the big 64,000 credit question.

They talked, by unspoken agreement, about frivolous or less than serious things. There was a trendy restaurant Jim wanted blow credits on and try in Vancouver if Spock and Bones were available for a dinner date. A gespar and pineapple upside down cake was its signature dessert. 

Joanna would be on vacation and Len could spend time with her while Jocelyn went to a professional conference on Mars for a few days. Jo was communicating with Vulcan and Andoran pen-pals for a school project about childhood on other planets and was learning basic phrases from her friends in those languages.

Spock cited research he’d come across in a Vulcan medical journal that suggested a possible antidote to one of Jim’s more minor allergies that the doctor might wish to explore.  He believed Jim would find the famed archeologist Cleante al-Faisal’s article about her team’s discovery of tablets related to Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s reign in a buried settlement near Karnak interesting as an example of ancient leadership and policy making on Earth.

Jim cleared away their dishes to the recycler and gulped his final swallow of liquor.  He eyed Len’s empty glass. “More of the hair of the dog that bit you?”

“Nah. I’m nicely lubricated, I don’t need to get sloppy drunk,” the physician said, waving him off and sitting up straighter in his seat.

It was astounding how many synonyms for inebriation existed in human languages, reflected Spock before he turned his attention to the more pressing matter at hand.

“Our upcoming shore leave on Earth has necessitated we three talk about a matter I would far rather have left for a later time. According to Star Fleet regulations, the establishment of a romantic or matrimonial bond between two or more officers requires that all parties disclose this to their superiors in a timely fashion. I have cause to believe that once we do so to the Admiralty, the odds are quite high that earth’s media outlets will obtain information about the story forthwith," began Spock.

“Fucking media vultures,” noted Jim bitterly. “Of course they will find out, and when they do, it'll be too sexy a story to ignore. Galactic heroes involved in an inter-species poly relationship. Rampant speculation about what Vulcans are like in bed, and whether Starfleet's slutty Captain Kirk, will keep it in his pants with two lovers to satisfy him. Or the admiralty will investigate if I'm abusing my command position and coerced either or both of you into a relationship with me. I predict nasty small minded smarmy gossip, Bones, about whether we’ve been having a torrid affair since the Academy. I can just see the headlines about playing doctor now.”  Finishing his rant, he closed his eyes, feeling a headache start from his tensing neck muscles.

“Don’t you dare think you’re going to play the martyr, James Kirk,” said McCoy, reaching out a hand to calm his friend by holding his arm firmly. “We need to do this together, three equal partners in this, even if you technically outrank me and Spock. No self-sacrificing acts on your part, you got me?” he demanded, his fierce stare meeting Jim’s troubled gaze as he rubbed a hand around the back of his neck.

“I’ve got both of you, and don't want to lose either of you,” said Jim earnestly, affection overwhelming the worry in his eyes as he looked at Len and then Spock.

Len wasn’t finished. He looked across the table. “You better not be thinking of throwing yourself on your sword either, Spock,” he warned fiercely.

The Vulcan shook his head firmly. “Seppuku is a viscerally messy and _most_ inconsiderate way to end one’s existence, doctor. I prefer to live, prosper and eventually bond with both my partners.  But I do agree that we must be, to use an outdated phrase, on the same page when we disclose to our superiors and interact with the media.”

“Good, that’s good,” said Jim with a sigh of relief. “I was scared one or both of you might decide this was more trouble than it’s worth to be with me. How do we keep Star Fleet from assigning us to different ends of the galaxy?”

“I didn’t leave you as a friend, darlin’, I wouldn’t leave you as my lover,” promised the doctor, placing a quick kiss on Jim’s temple as he gave him a reassuring hug.

“ _Ashayam_ , you are a part of me, as is Leonard. Star Fleet regulations note that the bonds Vulcans or other telepathic species create with their mates are considered sacrosanct. As a natural and civil right, we cannot have our bonds infringed upon by anti-fraternization rules or our partners transferred off ship without our agreement. And given the importance of the two of you to my pursuit of happiness, I would be highly unlikely to give my assent.”

Both Jim and Len knew that this was Spock's version of "hell no, over my dead green body." It felt very good to both of them that Spock valued their triad enough to resist rules and confront authority for them.

“Behold our favorite alien citing the Declaration of Independence’s list of unalienable rights,” said Jim the history buff, with a mocking look directed at his first officer.

“Careful, you’re using emotional language, Spock,” said Len, beaming. “I knew you could reckon a way we could fight the Powers that Be using their own words as weapons.”

“Does that not make our likely success that much sweeter?” inquired the Vulcan, rising from his chair and moving to the couch nearby. "As to emotional language, well, I knew there were some risks melding with one, much less two, of your alarmist species."

Jim laughed at the faintly smug bitchy tone in the rhetorical question. “You won’t be surprised to hear that I have some ideas of how we can steal their fire and thwart any who try to divide us.” He gestured Len over to the couch and seated himself at Spock’s side.


	4. Lubricate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion and bonding. In bed.

“So, as Captain of this vessel I can wed any two beings under my command. That takes care of you and Spock, Len. That marriage gives you dual Vulcan citizenship. Where it gets trickier is getting me married to both of you. We could take the long way home and divert to Vulcan for all three of us?”

Kirk looked over at Spock, who nodded in confirmation. A short diversion of a day or two would not significantly delay their arrival on Terra if they pushed the Enterprise’s engines a bit at Warp 6.

“You two as Vulcan citizens can bond with me and each other there. Then, shortly before we make landfall on Earth I could step aside temporarily as captain and have you, Spock, marry me and Len. A civil marriage on Earth in San Francisco’s city hall can finalize the last of our Vulcan and Earth weddings between me and Spock. Three men who bother to get married twice under two sets of planetary laws and three locations and multiple jurisdictions would manage to entangle the legal case for years if they tried to separate us or force us to serve separately.”

“It also means that divorce would be equally challenging for the three of us,” pointed out Spock. “Breaking a mental bond is a painful thing for both members of a pair of Vulcans. I do not have data for Vulcan-human dyads who separate, much less for Vulcan triads who may have attempted to break two bonds at a time. A mixed species trio such as ours getting bonded, much less severing bonds, is without precedent. So be very certain that this binding tie is truly what you both want and with which you can live for many, many years.”

“You scared we’ll poke too many holes in your logicking, Spock? I mean, it would be a two against one, humans v. Vulcans situation here.” _I’m giving you an out, just like you are giving us a chance to back away before we’re all in too deep_.

“Doctor, the day that a single Vulcan cannot run circles around two humans or at least, as Jim would say, give them a run for their money, is the point at which I truly despair for my species’ long-term viability.” _Of course I want you both, Leonard. This has been something I’ve pondered for a long time before taking what you offered._

“Uh, you’re doing that mental conversation thing again, wanna share?” asked Jim. “I’m getting feelings of reassurance and impressions of negotiations and offers, but nothing specific.”

He was instantly flooded with feelings of warm reassurance and mind-apologies from his two companions.

_Apologies, Jim. Exclusion was my last intention.         Sorry sweetheart, not trying to leave you out._

“I apologize.”

“Habit, Jim, not trying to make you feel excluded, here,” promised Len, patting his hand. “We’ll verbalize, won’t we, Spock?” he added, looking over at the other man.

“Indeed. While there is merit to your suggestion of as many combinations of weddings as possible to complicate legal jurisdiction, Jim, I suggest its very complexity is a flaw.” He pushed a feeling of amusement toward his captain in reply to his mental and verbal expletive.

“Well, fuck. Suggestions, gentlemen?”

“Couldn’t we just get bonded at the Vulcan Embassy and then married at City Hall downtown?” asked Len, leaning in toward them.

“Occam’s razor,” said Jim, brightening.

“Quite. An embassy is as good as another planet legally speaking, and does not add the possible charges of conspiracy or illegal diversion of a Star Fleet vessel for personal gain to increase the ire of Admiral Nogura and company as we would do by diverting to Vulcan,” pointed out Spock.

“That man’s always loaded for bear when it comes to you, Jim,” Len reminded him unnecessarily.

“Admiral Nogura’s confrontational style is only 22% more in evidence when it comes to Jim versus others who disagree with him in public forums,” contradicted Spock.

“Well, it’s something of a mutual loath-fest on both our parts,” allowed Jim, leaning closer to Bones to murmur confidingly, as though it were a secret that he and the Admiral got along as well as Klingons and Tribbles.

“Just because you were Pike’s protégé and beat out Nogura’s candidate for the Enterprise’s command doesn’t mean he’s gotta keep his knickers in a knot about it the rest of his life,” said Len, running his fingers over Jim’s tense neck and through his hair.

Jim shrugged. “Not something I can do a damn thing about, appeasing upset admirals. If it were as easily solved as offering a few blow jobs to the right parties it might almost be worth it…”

“Joke! Joke!” he offered hastily, feeling Spock’s mental recoil from the image as his first officer's very proper posture became rigidly tense. “I’m not going to carry through doing that, Spock, it’s just me trash talking.”

Leonard twisted his nose in disgust at the mental image of the grumpy grizzled Admiral getting off in Jim’s mouth.

“Clearly if you are indulging in fantasies involving such spurious uses of your considerable oral abilities on Nogura or Komack, it is time for me and the good doctor to divert your thoughts in more pleasant directions,” said Spock, faintly annoyed. He scooped Jim up from the couch and carried him over to the bed where he unceremoniously dropped him onto the mattress and took off his own and Jim's shoes.

Len followed them, shedding his shirt, jeans and shoes on the way. Clad only in his boxers he crawled atop Jim, pinning him down.

“Caduceus underwear? Where did you get these?” asked Jim, popping the waist’s elastic. He was not in the least diverted by the hot tongue swiping across his nipples.

“Shaddup,” ordered his physician. “Less talking, more moaning.” He applied his teeth to one pink nub, tugging lightly and diverted his captain’s attention back to the matter at hand. Jim let out a gratifying hiss of breath and helped Leonard tug off the blue boxers.

“It merely required a few lines of coding in the matter replicator,” said Spock as he efficiently stripped and placed his folded clothes on a chair, then fetched lube from the bathroom. “I believe such a gift falls under suggested Terran romantic gestures classified as a “love token” or a “little gesture of my esteem.”

“I prefer large tokens of esteem,” said Jim leering as he placed a hand on Spock’s hips and drew him into his mouth, moving his tongue in a flickering motion over the swollen cockhead. Both Jim and Len could hear Spock’s feverish “ _yesyesyes more yes there_ ” murmuring desperately in their heads as Jim greedily deep throated him.

“Well, that’s one way to shut him up,” muttered McCoy in satisfaction as he sunk his teeth into Jim’s side, the Captain’s cry of surprise and faint pain muffled by his first officer’s erection filling his mouth and throat. "Idiot," he told his captain. "That's for thinking either of us was going to leave you at the first sign of trouble."

 

Sometime later, muscles pleasantly sore, Leonard arched his back into Spock’s chest and stomach before relaxing again. “Do we need to sort out any more details about our wedding and bonding?” he inquired of his bedmates.

“I will inform the Vulcan embassy of our intention and request a Vulcan healer-officiant. I believe Sarek is currently in residence and will be compelled by events to lend a certain gravitas to the event as a witness and family representative.”

Len snorted. “You mean looking as though he’s swallowed lemons at the sheer illogic of the event, his son marrying the man voted the Federation’s Sexist Starfleet Captain twice in the last four years?”

Spock inclined his head, his eyes glinting with humor. “An indubitably correct assessment.”

Jim raised his head from Len’s chest where he had been snuggling. “How secret does this need to be? Joanna would be really upset if she missed her daddy’s wedding to Uncle Jim.”

“Now doesn’t that sound all cozy and incestuous,” commented the doctor sarcastically. He rolled over to face Spock. “And yeah, I need to tell her that I am also recently partnered to the Vulcan she admires so much, even if she doesn’t dare call you uncle as well.”

“So if we communicated the news about our early morning Vulcan bonding to, say, the bridge crew and Scotty, is it likely that we could have a sizeable number of witnesses to our marriage at City Hall in afternoon later that same day?” asked Jim, sitting up cross legged in the bed. He liked a good party and his crew could be relied upon to throw one hell of a celebratory shindig.

“Affirmative. I calculate that…” began Spock before McCoy clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Good enough, hobgoblin. Kiss me,” ordered the doctor and drew the Vulcan’s mouth down to meet his lips. He blindly reached for Jim’s hand and sighed breathily as he felt both of them touching him, fingers on skin and two sets of thoughts smooth and abrasive swirling and melting together in an affectionate spiral in his mind.


	5. Officiate and Agitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio get Ambassador Sarek's blessing and bond, Vulcan style. Points to readers catching a Pern reference.

“Comfort the afflicted, afflict the comfortable,” said Jim jauntily, as he stood on the transporter pad beside his ship’s physician and first officer. Spock raised an eyebrow in sardonic commentary and McCoy’s quiet amused “heh, heh” came from over Jim’s shoulder.

The transporter caught them up and deposited them in the entry courtyard of the Vulcan embassy on Earth, just outside San Francisco. They were required to surrender their phasers, Len’s tricorder and hypos and a throwing knife. Jim had kept one in his boot since Tarsus. The marble faced security guard was nearly as broad as he was tall and Jim privately wondered if he was fully Vulcan, given the species ran to taller and lean muscle, not solid square shapes.

“The Ambassador is expecting you,” he intoned, offering a ta’al to Spock and a curt nod to his human companions. He left them at the door of a reception room after opening it and announcing their arrival to Ambassador Sarek. Leonard marveled again at Vulcan genetics. Sarek was over a century old, but aside from his greying hair he looked like a young human in his mid forties.

Len raised his hand in a ta’al along with Jim and both of them murmured the traditional greeting in Vulcan.

“You are all looking well,” Sarek said, making allowances for the humans present. He directed his gaze to his son. “I am available to witness your bonding to these men this morning in the Shi'Kahr conference room. T’Lessa will officiate at 1100 hours to verify the bonds are secure.”

“Affirmative,” replied Spock and turned to go. His arm was caught by his captain. “One minute, Spock.”

“Sir. We are determined on our course of action, but will you give us your support?” Jim asked the Ambassador.

Sarek raised a single eyebrow. McCoy looked over at him. “You know about the earth tradition of the youngsters getting a parent’s approval of a relationship, Ambassaador?”

“Affirmative. However, given you are not negotiating a bridal price of thirty bovines and Vulcans are vegetarian and matriarchal, I did not find such a tradition relevant, to offer my son’s hand in marriage given he has been of legal adult status for many years.”

“We would like your influence added to ours when the media storm over the news of our bonding and marriage hits the planet news media outlets,” explained the Captain.

“Ah.” Sarek gave off a pleased aura although his expression didn’t flicker. “I believe you will find Vulcan’s and my personal response to be adequate and commensurate to the occasion.”

Leonard exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. Jim grinned a second before toning down his smile to a smaller one. “Thank you from all three of us, or should I say, _th'i-oxalra fasei rekuh_.”

“Grammatically odd, but your accent is improving, Captain.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Spock,” replied Jim wryly. “Shall we?” he asked, flicking a glance in Len's direction.

Spock led them to the Shi’Kahr conference room. A pressed button lowered the table and some of the chairs into floor recesses and created a wood dais of elaborate marquetry. Four chairs in a square remained with a single row of chairs behind for witnesses.

“Make yourself comfy, Bones.”

“Any particular chair I should take, Spock?”

“I should be closest to T’Lessa,” the first officer said, indicating her chair, "as I am the mental focal point for the bonding.”

“Right. Jim, Spock’s left or right?”

“Left.”

Leonard seated himself in the remaining chair, which was more comfortable than it looked.

“You have done this before, why are you nervous, doctor?” He shot the Vulcan a look of annoyance and affection. “Oh gee, because I’m not only walking into a shit storm of PR and gossip, but also cuz it’s me getting hitched with Vulcan’s honored son and Starfleet’s hero. I just happen to be a country doctor who took to space.”

Jim took his chin in his fingers and turned Len’s face to him. “You’re ours, we’re yours.”

“ _Affirmative, ashayam_ ,” came Spock’s voice in his head, “ _be at peace. You are wanted and loved twice over_.”

“I thought I’d be the one with last minute wedding jitters, not you, Bones,” joked Jim. “Besides, we get to do this again in front of more people this afternoon.” Bones’ groan of mock horror was abruptly suppressed as the trio heard bells announcing T’Lessa’s approach. Sarek and several embassy officials serving as witnesses entered the room and the ceremony began.

Later, thinking about their bonding, Jim decided it was a unique blend of ritual, vows and a methodical examination of their brains, and spirits and mental connection. He had watched Len’s face as the healer’s strong but bony fingers played over his temple and Spock’s. She had closed her eyes in concentration and Len’s gaze which had been held by Spock’s dark eyes grew sharper, more intense.

“Captain Kirk?” she prompted, dropping her hand from Spock’s temple and extending it to Jim.

“Ma’am?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“First I will confirm and strengthen your connection to Spock S’chn T’gai then connect you to that of Spock to Leonard Horatio McCoy.”

“All right,” said Jim calmly, while trembling with anticipation. He turned to look at Spock, running his eyes lovingly over the sharp planes of his face before settling his gaze on the deep brown eyes. Dimly he felt T’Lessa’s hand touch his psi points and saw her other hand drop from Bones’ face and move to Spock’s. He closed his eyes briefly when he felt a warm intensity of thoughts not his own in his head.

“Open thy eyes, James,” prompted the healer. Jim locked eyes with Spock again. He felt a shift in his head, almost like a joint popping in a chiropractic adjustment or a Vesalian kreshka dance. The murmur of Spock’s thoughts became clear words and ideas. “ _I am with you, th'y’la, one of my loves._ ”

T'Lessa nodded and removed herself from Spock’s thoughts. “Leonard, thy turn.” Jim turned to Len who was hissing at their partner, “Spock, enough, I’ll be with you in a minute... Okay Jim, let’s do this.” Jim felt Spock’s mind quiet, then he was caught up into Bones’ mind and felt his delight and Spock’s mirrored delight and then he was swamped with data overload --medical information, scientific theories, astrophysics, speculation about Rigellian slime worms’ RNA bouncing around before they settled into a soothing hum in his head.

“You with us, Jim?” Len’s mental voice was deeper than his usual tenor. Jim nodded and heedless of the tears running down his face, grabbed both his partners’ hands. “I’m here, I can hear you both in my head,” he thought at them happily. Spock shifted in his chair.

“You ain’t gotta yell at us,” said Bones grumpily before the ceremony concluded with minimal fuss. Clearly communicating with this mental bonding would take some practice .


	6. Officiation, Publications and Agitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> City Hall San Francisco, 1300 hours, same day. The trio weds in the spot where so many same sex marriages were performed in 2008 and following the legalization of same-sex marriage as the law of the land in 2015. Bonus points to readers recognizing a Julian of Norwich quote and Ray Bradbury reference.

“Why did you insist on lunch, Bones, I didn’t need to eat.”

“Look, Jim—” began Bones before Spock began citing human caloric needs and reminding their partner (what a wonderful thing that he, Leonard McCoy now had bondmates, soon to be husbands, he thought) that starving himself was a maladaptive practice and psychologically unhealthy given his Tarsus experiences.

“Let him be, doctor, we’ll be dining in Vancouver at a three star restaurant tonight,” said Spock unexpectedly. “All shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.”

His captain shot him a quick grin. “Well, gentlemen, are we ready to launch ourselves into Terran-style matrimony?”

“Affirmative.”

“Sure thing.”

Jim had expected most of the bridge crew to make time for their wedding when an announcement had been messaged to their family, friends and shipmates late in the day yesterday. What he had not expected was to be told they would be holding the event in the main hall.

The recently restored metal and gold stair railings gleamed in the afternoon sunlight and the white marble echoed with the excited murmurs and squeaks and fluting of the beings who thronged along the balcony, stood on the steps and, front and center sat their families and friends as well as a few Star Fleet admirals who Jim was pleased to call almost-friends.

The global news media was also in evidence, sequestered off to one side.

“Daddy!” came the piercing shriek at a note only seven year old girls can reach. The crowd parted and Joanna came barreling toward her father and was swept up in a hug.

"Jo-jo, darlin’, I’m so glad grandmama could bring you today.”

“She said I’m gonna be a flower girl and—hey, Uncle Jim!”

“Hey, is this Josephine, Empress of the French, I see before me?” joked Jim, coming over to take Bones’ daughter off his hip and put her on her feet before he crouched next to her.

“Nuh-uh.” Joanna shook her head. She had played this guessing game with her father’s friend and her honorary uncle many times before.

“Well, you’re not Juana the Mad… maybe Joan of Arc?”

Joanna laughed. “I’m just me today. Grammy said Mr. Spock is getting married to you and Daddy too.”

“Indeed, Miss McCoy.” Joanna looked up at the tall Vulcan stern in his formal dress uniform. He didn’t smile really, but his eyes were kind. She had met him a few times and she knew how important he was to the ship and now to her father. Plus he was really, really smart and he didn’t talk to her like she was a baby.

“That’s good, Daddy needs friends to keep him happy and Grammy says he needs two minders to keep him out of trouble. Oh! Sorry, I forgot.”

She spread her fingers with the other hand and made a ta’al. “Live long and prosper.” I’ll be taking Vulcan next year in school, I promise, so I can tell you hello properly next year.”

Spock returned her greeting politely and looked at Jim. _Ready?_

 _Yes_ , came Jim and Len’s voices in his head. Leonard sounded slightly annoyed, but his " _never mind_ " in Jim and Spock's thoughts allayed their fears.

“They want us to walk in from three directions from the aisles between the chairs and meet at the foot of the stairs,” explained the doctor, returning from talking with an official from the city clerk’s office.

“Joanna, why don’t you walk in front of Jim and spread the flower petals,” he instructed, passing his daughter a basket overflowing with pale blue and yellow petals for science, medicine and command. She bounced excitedly and looked up at Jim, waiting for his signal.

Jim looked dubiously at the basket and the Vulcan reached for his tricorder before the doctor’s gesture stopped him. “Yeah, they’re nothing you’re allergic to, Jim, I checked. I’ll come in from over there and you can walk in from here, Spock.”

“Sure, you’ve done this before, you can be the wedding planner,” said Jim wryly.

“You’ll pay for that comment later tonight, Jim-boy,” threatened the doctor as he walked away to where he was supposed to enter.

“I look forward to watching that event. But we are holding up the ceremony,” pointed out Spock as he headed to his starting spot.

They started walking in from their three directions and the murmuring of the crowd quieted. It was quiet for a half minute and then the engineering crew started clapping in time to their strides up the aisle, ending up in sustained applause as the trio stepped up to the officiant.

She held up a hand to quiet the antsy crowd. “Gentle-beings, we welcome you to the city hall to join us in witnessing and celebrating the start of the marriage of these three men. I have been asked to mention that Lt. Uhura will be offering a gift of music on behalf of the crew of the Enterprise.”

Both Jim and Leonard recognized the love song, “The Three Stars of Orion” from their academy days. “ _Appropriate,_ ” murmured Spock in their heads at the lyrics—“None of the stars would shine as bright without the other two.”

The words of the ceremony were simple but heartfelt. The three of them held hands together and vowed to love, protect and bear witness to and try to meet the true needs and desires of each other. They were pronounced a wedded triad. Jim squeezed both their hands before releasing them and Len wiped a tear from the corner of his eye before they turned to face the crowd and were stunned by sheer volume of approving noise and the excited burst of yelled questions from the press.

“Captain Kirk! Sir, what is Star fleet’s response to your marriage?”

“We’re suppposed to be meeting with Star fleet brass sometime soon, so you’ll know soon after I do,” Jim said, turning the falsely charming smile on the journalist who was multitasking with a vengeance, typing with two hands while another two pairs were rapidly snapping holos and uploading a video feed.

“Commander Spock, Felicity Custer from the Martian Chronicle, what was your family’s response to your marriage to two humans?”

Sarek stood up from the crowd, causing all eyes to turn to his black-clad figure.  “If I might say a few words regarding the significance of this nuptial event to both Humans and Vulcans…”

“Let’s go while the getting’s good, Jim, Spock,” hissed Bones as he scooped up Joanna and headed for a side exit. A few of the more determined reporters who tried to follow them found their way hampered by Star fleet security. Apparently, the red shirts of the Enterprise had called on their planetside friends to help the trio escape the media storm.

Eileen McCoy was waiting outside with a hover car for their honeymoon get away.

“Bye Jo-Jo, I’ll see you the day after tomorrow when your mom goes to Mars. We’ll have five whole days together,” promised Bones.

“Okay, but Uncle Jim and your Vulcan should come too to see our peach trees and my new pet tribble, Ms. Apricot and her babies Nectar and Pit.”

“Deal,” promised Jim, giving Joanna a hug. Spock offered her a ta’al and thanked her for her assistance with the flower petals.

“You’re welcome, Daddy’s Vulcan,” she said, beaming, and was pulled back away from the craft by her grandmother so they could leave.

“Like your new nickname, Spock?” asked Jim as he smoothly pulled into traffic headed north.

“Nickname, Captain?”

“Daddy’s Vulcan. Which I predict might become DV at some point,” offered McCoy from the backseat.

“Given tribbles’ fecundity, you may become a DVM in the near future, doctor,” shot back Spock.

Bones groaned and loosened the neck of his dress uniform. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be doing a bit of tinkering with Ms. Apricot’s reproductive organs in the near future. My mother says three tribbles are more than enough pets for one girl.”

They were treated to a view of the Golden Gate Bridge in the afternoon sunlight as Jim piloted them west to the ocean and toward the scenic northern California coastline.

“We could’ve stopped at a transporter, you know,” Bones grumbled. “I could’ve been out of this monkey suit by now.”

“This method lets us drop off the radar until someone astute at ShiKahr’s Oasis realizes that Mr. James and Mr. Leonard and friend who have supper reservations at seven are the newly wedded Enterprise trio and tips off the Canadian press,” said Jim. “Besides, I like to drive, and Sulu never lets me get my hands on the wheel.”

Leonard grunted and steadfastly ignored Spock’s teasing inquiry about the idiom when the Enterprise’s steering mechanism were not circular, nor wheel-like. He looked out the window and wondered whether tomorrow’s meeting with the Admiralty would turn into an investigation or tribunal.

Spock half-turned in his seat to look back at the doctor. “You are not feeling well, adun?”

“Damn meeting with the brass tomorrow morning at 10. Came up on the communicators when I was talking about the ceremony with the clerk and officiant.”

“The deed is done. We don’t even have anything to ask for forgiveness for this time, since we brought the ship back in one piece,” pointed out Jim, dropping them closer to the ocean so they could see the school of dolphins breaching close up.


End file.
